


Mulled Science

by StarvingForAttention



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies, Gen, Hope, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mental Instability, Mystery, frenemies?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 16:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingForAttention/pseuds/StarvingForAttention
Summary: On a cold winter's night, Maxwell offers Wilson a momentary respite and the opportunity to ask some important questions.
Relationships: Maxwell & Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Mulled Science

Wilson hadn't believed in any higher power for over two decades now. Even so, for an instant he almost wished that he did, if only to have something to pray to. Something that might keep the suspiciously creaking ice beneath his feet from shattering and sending him plummeting into freezing death.

But he didn't believe. And so instead of prayer, he tried to suppress the sinking feeling in his gut by thinking back on his past deaths. It was ghoulish at the best of times, but he had to stay sharp. If he let memories of his past lives slip too far from his active mind, they would vanish altogether. He had already lost hundreds if not thousands of days, massive swatches of his existence reduced to garbled fragments and brief visions of pain. All the more reason to cling to what he had left.

He took a step forward, then another. Fifteen lives ago... blood poisoning from a bad cut he hadn't been able to sterilise. Fourteen... electrocuted by an automated fishing machine gone wrong. Thirteen... he had drowned — and the ice was snapping under his feet please don't let it happen again please please _please_ — twelve... no, as important as it was to remember, that had been to much, too likely to make his mind unravel even now. Eleven... he couldn't remember a single thing about the entire life. Ten... no, wait, eleven had been starvation because his entire pantry had evaporated into smoke due a freak wildfire, what a joke... Ten had been pneumonia, nine damage from a fall, eight best not remembered — and now there was solid ground under his feet again and he could breathe and he would never ever walk on thin ice again.

Only, he probably would. Because he had done so for a reason. Because night was falling fast and he had used his kindling for mending traps and there was no time to waste. The shortcut across the lake had been the only thing capable of saving him from yet another stupid death, and only if he ran now.

So he ran. 

All too quickly, his surroundings lost to twilight what little of their colour hadn't already been stolen by winter. He kept stumbling ahead, squinting at greying bushes and stark black tree trunks and the whiteness of the path ahead, no longer recognising the cold that had previously made him shiver. He rushed, he darted, he scampered.

And screeched to a complete halt when he saw firelight gleaming ahead.

He squinted. A forest fire? No, the flames were far too small. The glow mostly resembled that a campfire. His? It couldn't be, not with how long he had been gone. Besides, he was still a ten minute run away from his base. 

He crept forward, maintaining a brisk pace while also minding the loudness of his steps. Could it be an enterprising pigman who had figured out the secret to fire? He had seen them in other lives. Maybe, just maybe...

No such luck. As soon as he got close enough to the clearing, he was greeted by the sight of Maxwell's ugly mug. The jerk sat stiffly on a long velvet couch that managed to look both incredibly stupid and scandalously comfortable. His black eyes were fixed on the flames.

Of _course_ it would be Maxwell. Because even though the winter had been one of worst Wilson could remember, obviously it wasn't yet quite bad enough. Of course it would have to come to an end with some kind of hideously prolonged, torturous death.

Wilson dithered at the edge of fire's glow. Remaining in the dark meant a certain, but familiar demise. Confronting Maxwell might well see him survive the night, as usually the demon dealt in nothing but mockery and sarcasm. But it could also result in far, far worse.

_So what? Aren't you used to suffering by now?_

He was. Of course he was. He was more intimately familiar with pain than he was with any creature comforts. It didn't mean he liked it, any more than he had once liked prying, needling relatives no matter how thick blood was supposed to be.

Ha. To think that his aunts and uncles had once been enough to vex him.

He breathed in, then wired his jaw tightly shut. He marched into the firelight.

Maxwell made no comment. Nor did he smirk. The only clue that he had even seen Wilson was a brief flicker of his eyes before they settled back on the flames.

Wilson folded his arms tight against his chest and waited. The coldness of the night air, something which he had barely noticed during his flight, now began to seep into his flesh. As bright as the fire was, its radius only barely touched his extremities. What a joke it would be to freeze to death so close to salvation.

"You might as well sit down. I won't bite."

Wilson blinked, unsure if Maxwell had actually spoken. Certainly, Maxwell remained as statue-like as before. Could it be that this wasn't Maxwell after all? Perhaps what Wilson saw was merely a cunning automaton sculpted to look like his nemesis.

He decided that the theory was a tad silly and mastered his chattering teeth. "In your dreams. I haven't forgotten what you did to me the last time we met."

"I didn't do anything to you the last time we met."

Wilson floundered, the spiteful rant he had been preparing crawling back down his throat. Now he remembered. Maxwell was, in fact, telling the truth. The encounter had been harmless. Even if Wilson had died several days later stampeded to death by a herd of spooked Beefalos. 

"The time before that," he persisted. The sound of the bones in his finger snapping one by one still sometimes rang in his ears. "How stupid must you think I am if you believe there's the slightest chance I'll ever trust you enough to willingly come so close."

"You have my word that if you stay and have a drink with me, I will let you go afterwards without so much as bending a single strand of your hair."

Wilson glared and waited.

Finally, Maxwell gave a theatrical sigh and unfurled his long form. "Very well. I swear that if you stay and have a drink with me, you will be able to leave with absolutely no harm done to you, mental or physical, either by me or any other party. Good enough?"

Wilson just barely kept himself from shuddering. No matter how good the promise sounded, it was still Maxwell giving it.

At the same time, the night was only going to get colder and he was exhausted. He might as well enjoy some semblance of warmth for a few moments.

He held his head high as he walked to the fire. Nothing went immediately wrong, which was highly suspicious. Even more suspicious was that Maxwell gestured at the free end of the couch.

Wilson arched an eyebrow. _Are you kidding me?_

Maxwell snorted. "I didn't realize you were sort of skittish woodland creature. A grumpy badger, perhaps?"

"And what are you? A praying mantis?"

Maxwell's lips twitched. He leaned away, half reclining against the armrest. "Do as you please."

Damn those tempting cushions.

Suppressing a sigh, Wilson sat down on the couch as far away from Maxwell as he could. He immediately melted onto the cushions. How could anything be so obscenely soft? Had he been alone, he might have fallen asleep right there and then. 

As far as he could tell, Maxwell pulled the pair of steaming mugs out of thin air. Wilson took the proffered mug gingerly, loath to touch the demon's fingers. The liquid within the blue porcelain cup was deep red, or possibly amber. It was difficult to tell in the scant light. 

Breathing in through his nostrils, Wilson took the tiniest of sips. The drink tasted sweet and spicy and fruity all at once, with no obvious bitterness. Most importantly of all, it was warm. He took another sip and felt the warmth coursing to his stomach like liquid fire.

He lowered the mug, the sugar lingering on his lips. "What is this?"

"Don't tell me you've never had mulled wine before, pal."

"Fine. I won't." Wilson took a third, deep draught of what he still half suspected was carefully masked poison. The worst of his numbness began to thaw.

Maxwell watched him drink, his own mug steaming uselessly in his hand. None of his typical leers or smirks were in attendance. In fact, he acted far less punchable than usual.

Wilson emptied the mug, then considered his options. There was little chance he was going to convince Maxwell to go away while leaving the fire and couch behind. But he might be able to wring out some half-useful conversation, and thus, answers. 

"Why are you doing this?"

Maxwell stretched himself like a particularly languid cat. "A simple whim, pal. Don't expect me to make a habit of it."

"This isn't like your usual whims." After all, there were no hounds, no sneaky fire traps, no sudden rot infesting all of Wilson's provisions. "When I last checked my Maxwell-to-English dictionary, 'whim' was a synonym to 'causing despair'."

"Then what do you think this is?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked the question."

"And yet somehow my answer isn't good enough." Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually keen on getting a response, pal? Or are you just in love with the sound of your voice?"

It was a good thing Wilson was exhausted. It meant a delay between him opening his mouth and hurling a withering and well-deserved insult at Maxwell, one long enough for him to swallow the barb. While no doubt satisfying in the moment, getting into a petty argument was in the long run about as useful as a Beefalo saddle covered in spikes.

Wilson took a deep breath and tried to pretend his skin wasn't crawling. He turned the mug in his hands, marvelling at the feel of porcelain against his palms. He realised to his great surprise he was starting to believe that nothing bad was going to happen to him for the next five minutes.

"More?" There was a fresh mug in Maxwell's hand. This one was white with a fine blue pattern encircling the rim.

Wilson swapped for it with barely a thought. The sweet drink was starting to make him a bit sick, but experience had taught him to keep down anything not actively toxic.

As he drank, he watched Maxwell. Though Maxwell couldn't be called handsome any more than Wilson himself could be, there was something striking about his features that made it difficult to look away. With the flickering firelight softening the beetle-like hardness of Maxwell's eyes, he could almost pass for a human.

Which in turn led to further questions. Questions to which Wilson meant to find answers.

"You didn't bring me to this world only to torture me."

It wasn't a question, and so he didn't really expect an answer. Yet he received one, after a fashion. It might have been an illusion created by the smoke and haze, but it looked to Wilson like Maxwell nodded ever so slightly.

"In other words, you had some purpose in mind that wasn't sadism." 

There was no reaction this time.

"What was it?"

Maxwell flashed his teeth at him. "What if I told you I'm a demon sent from Hell to punish you for your hubris?"

"I don't believe in demons." 

"Neither did I at first, pal."

"Look." Wilson set the mug down. Its comforting warmth had faded with its contents. "Man or demon, you have made it abundantly clear that there was in fact some purpose for which you brought me here." Wilson's memory might have been as porous as a loosely knit fishing net, but it stretched far and wide. Sometimes it caught nuggets of vital knowledge. Looks. Words. Clear hints pointing at a purpose beyond the obvious.

Maxwell made no rebuttal.

"In other words, you want something from me. Something different from what you usually take. So why won't you ask for it? I see no logical reason why you couldn't explain the situation to me."

The look Maxwell gave him was as brief as it was condescending.

Wilson sighed. "Are you going to tell me that you're under some kind of blood oath that disallows you from using common sense?"

No response.

"Can't you even hint at what you want?"

"I have, pal. More times than you can remember."

"Fine." Wilson straightened his back. "Forget that for now. What _are_ you, exactly?"

"I believe you like to call me a demon."

"Yes." He may have overdone it, in fact. "But you're not one. At least, I don't think so."

The corners of Maxwell's mouth tugged upwards. "Then what does your genius scientific mind tell you I am, pal?"

Wilson met Maxwell's eyes. At once, he felt a screaming urge to turn away from their void-like gaze. 

But this wasn't a time to let his terror dictate his actions. And so, he forced his shoulders down and spoke. "I think you're human. If nothing else, you were one before you came here."

"Hm."

"I have experimented with the Prestihatitator enough to know there are things in this land that defy our current understanding of the natural world. The most logical assumption is that you're using something similar but more powerful to simulate impossible magic."

 _Or possibly,_ the thought continued in a wordless whisper as Maxwell very slowly turned to look aside. _something similar is using_ you.

"The Prestihatitator? Is that what you call that goofy machine of yours?" Maxwell smirked. "How long has it been since you waved your little wand and turned your camp into an inferno? That was quite the spectacle."

Wilson ground his teeth. He hadn't expected Maxwell to give him a candid answer, but the way he sidestepped the question was still infuriating. _Don't let him aggravate you. It's just another trick._ "It won't happen again."

"Of course it won't. But that is not my point. I would have have thought that with your personal experience with magic, you would have ceased to cling to silly notions such as _rational reasoning_ and _empirical evidence._ "

Shadows with teeth came to lurk at the peripheries of Wilson's vision. He tried not to look at them.

They kept looking at him.

"Here's what I think of this world, pal. It's clear to me that what humans think of as the natural world is little more than a bubble from which the two of us have happened to escape." Maxwell snapped his fingers. With an audible whoosh, the firepit reignited with the sickly green flames of will-o'-the-wisps. "You may not believe I'm a demon, but perhaps I've instead become God."

Wilson shuddered. "I don't believe in gods either." 

"Do you believe in your eyes? Your ears? Your brain?" The flames abated and turned orange. "I suppose you don't, considering how many times I've seen you clawing at your face as you were being devoured by the creeping shadows. But here's the truth. We have gone beyond logical reasoning. Our former reality is little more than a dream. This world is a gateway leading towards the true nature of reality. What can your precious science do to explain any of this? Nothing."

Wilson had averted his eyes, but as Maxwell kept lecturing him, practically oozing smug menace, he turned back. Maxwell's mouth was saying one thing, but his eyes were signalling something altogether different.

_Prove me wrong._

Like Wilson needed prompting. He leaned forward and fixed Maxwell with the steadiest look he could muster.

"That's not how science works. Just because I don't understand them yet or because nothing here seems to follow any doesn't mean that there are no rules."

He paused, expecting Maxwell to interject. But Maxwell said nothing.

"There is nothing science cannot ultimately explain. This world," Wilson gesticulated at the darkness, "may seen impossible to us now, but that doesn't mean it's actually inexplicable. I learn something new every day, and as soon as I can survive long enough to do so, I can began truly observing its logic. I've already made a lot of progress." Sometimes it came at a great cost, especially when it came to experimenting with the shadowy disciplines made that his brain feel like it was being cleft in half. But when had scientific discoveries not required sacrifices? 

He looked Maxwell straight in the eye. "This world isn't an unsolvable puzzle. I just need to find more of the pieces."

Maxwell met his gaze with a long, steady look. It might have been a trick of the firelight, but for the first time in several dozen lifetimes, Wilson felt that the way Maxwell was looking at him was something other than contemptuous.

He looked... satisfied.

"If you want to find them, I suggest you head south."

Wilson blinked. "What?"

Maxwell stood up, his spindly shadow elongated to absurd lengths by the flames. When he turned, his lips were curled up in their usual disdain. "You heard me." He turned away. "Work fast. The next time I run into you, I will skin you alive."

And then he was gone. Though it hadn't actually happened, Wilson was left with the impression that Maxwell had been carried away by bats.

He stared at the empty spot where Maxwell had been, feeling deflated. _The next time I run into you_ was Maxwell-speech for _the next time I get bored._ And he was in the habit of keeping his promises. Great.

Still, not all was awful. Maxwell had left the couch behind. No doubt it would be gone as soon as Wilson walked from it, but that was a concern for another day. The fire was still crackling merrily along, and Wilson had enough twigs to keep it going until dawn. He tossed a few into the flames, then nibbled on some stale seeds he found at the bottom of his pockets. It wasn't much, but with the sugar from the drinks, it would be enough until he could walk back to camp.

He lay down on the couch, staring at the fire. 

South, then. It wasn't much of a lead. But it was, in fact, a lead.

And, strange as it sounded, he felt as though he had gained something further. Conviction. He wasn't just imagining it. There _was_ something he wasn't seeing yet to both Maxwell and the Constant.

His eyes began to flicker shut.

And one way or another, he would get to the bottom of it.


End file.
